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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28473459">raise the stakes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vois/pseuds/vois'>vois</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Densetsu no Yuusha no Densetsu | The Legend of the Legendary Heroes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Modern Era, Vampires</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:26:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28473459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vois/pseuds/vois</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A vampire hunter fosters a young Miran Froaude.<br/>A young Miran Froaude fosters a fledgling interest in vampires.</p><p>Both of these really should have been temporary, but now Miran finds himself a rather permanent addition to this vampire-hunting family, with an all-consuming obsession to match. However, unlike his brothers, his interest doesn't lie in impaling vampires.</p><p>He'd rather be the one getting 'impaled'.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lucile Eris/Miran Froaude</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>raise the stakes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/idola/gifts">idola</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Despite the fact that Miran works at a Hot Topic, the bell hasn’t rung once over the past two hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Under different circumstances, he might chalk it up to the place or time. It was a Wednesday, after all, and rather late in the day besides. There was also a slightly classier and significantly larger mall just fifteen minutes out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, while the time and place on their own are fairly damning… together, they provide another explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For starters, it might seem like common sense that a Wednesday night should be the least active time of week, but… this was a college town. After the weekend, Wednesdays just might be the most active. There was no shortage of overly-caffeinated students who, after finding their beloved espresso no longer cut it after twelve cups in just two days, would come to prowl the mall in search of something to lift their spirits. Whether it was a trashy novella, a restock on junk food, or some new tacky clothing, many students relied on this midweek boost to help them survive to the weekend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as for that larger mall… it was a Wednesday night. The campus always seemed to be short on parking, no matter how many lots they added, and enough students left their cars untouched throughout the school week that driving out somewhere would mean coming back to see that someone else had stolen your spot and there were no others to be seen. It was much easier to find parking on weekends, when everyone was moving about. This left the bus, which took a full hour longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran was willing to bet that if he left the store and strolled down the hall to the food court, it would be packed with greasy underclassmen. Which meant that the real reason he had been stuck behind the counter, marinating in early 2000s emo music, was simply because…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one else around here had any taste!!!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was going to be driven to commit murder, truly. The manager had recently forbidden bringing textbooks to work, probably because he didn’t like feeling less intelligent than the people he bossed around, and studying online was out of the question when the mall wi-fi was so atrocious. The only reading material Miran could get his hands on was whatever he could convince the closest kiosk to part with, which was only ever either bodice-rippers or the trashy local paper. There wasn’t even much to report on in the area that wasn’t under the school paper’s jurisdiction, which meant that his foster father was on the front page again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a vampire hunter, Rahel Miller was somewhat of a local celebrity. Certainly he didn’t hold a candle to - well, any other vampire hunter, really - but he did have a few kills under his belt, and that was exciting enough for a town like this… or perhaps it would be better to say that it was about as exciting as it could get. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In any case, the interview wasn’t anything new. More than getting money from the government for killing vampires, Miller probably got most of his funds from these articles. They only ever said the same few things over and over, but the paper continued to run them. In Miran’s opinion, the money couldn’t possibly be worth it for a whole host of reasons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That Miller was his foster father was only the first of his grievances. Despite the fact that it was a horrible idea on the off chance a vampire felt threatened (by Miller, of all people?) enough to take hostages, people always, </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> asked about family. Miller would trot out the usual lines about his wife, who was frankly far more renowned in the vampire-hunting world and thus never in town anyways, and then…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright, so maybe Miller didn’t use their names, or even their initials. So maybe a vampire couldn’t actually get enough information from this to attack Miran or either of his brothers (which was honestly a bit of a shame). But all throughout grade-school, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> could tell it was them! No one ever shut up about it!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe, just maybe, after so many years of the same nonsense on repeat, the embarrassment and accompanying annoyment had simmered down considerably. Maybe Miran couldn’t say that he or his brothers had ever been </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry</span>
  </em>
  <span> about it - if they had been, Miller would probably have stopped - but it was! Still! Annoying! Moreso back when their classmates couldn’t seem to shut up about it, but even if no one said anything nowadays, it still felt like… well, Miller didn’t have any baby pictures (because they didn’t exist) to whip out and show to their partners (because they also didn’t exist), but Miran imagined if must have felt like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that any of them would ever know for sure. The dearth of baby pictures aside, Luke and Claugh had only ever had eyes for each other, and Miran…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran was only into vampires.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the off chance that Miller said something stupid enough to get Miran kidnapped by a vampire, he would simply elope with said vampire! This did presume, of course, that the vampire was attractive, and that the vampire had a personality that was conducive to Miran’s attempts at seduction, and various other factors that Miran had given a completely normal amount of thought towards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in any case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran had been reading the same article for the past hour, completely uninterrupted, which put him into a rather sour mood. Any interesting scenarios his mind could derive from it could be debunked in an instant. Certainly, some of his imaginings were wildly more detailed than others, but that didn’t matter. It didn’t make it any more difficult to prove impossible. One cold, cruel, baseline fact could destroy them all;</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is no chance whatsoever that there are any vampires within a five-town radius of this shithole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as he stood up to toss the paper in the trash, yet another breakup song came on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran’s eye twitched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His coworker, a man named Ryner, was in charge of picking out the music. Normally, he had no objections to this; they had more or less the same taste in music. It was only occasionally infuriating, generally when Ryner did something so embarrassing and pathetic that Miran couldn’t stand to remember they had anything in common aside from their taste in men (but only because Miran’s taste was, objectively, impeccable). Given today’s lineup, Miran could work out that he’d hit a rough patch in his relationship, which was…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Absolutely unforgivable!!! (And also somewhat exciting, but mostly unforgivable!!!)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could pick the newspaper back up out of the garbage bin just to roll it up and thwack Ryner with it. He could, alternatively, pick up the entire bin and throw it at him. Since his coworker was the laziest and most infuriatingly passive man Miran had ever had the misfortune of knowing, he probably wouldn’t even say anything to their manager - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ryner</span>
  </em>
  <span> wouldn’t say anything to the manager, no. And he couldn’t even complain to Sion if they were fighting! However, given their track record, they would probably work things out within a day or two since Sion was so wonderfully - if excessively - forgiving, at which point…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The theoretical dustbin incident would still be fresh enough in Ryner’s mind to merit mentioning! And then Sion, out of a misplaced desire for atonement, would try to get Miran fired!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t that it didn’t sound very exciting, especially since he was already imagining several ways that this endeavor could go down and even more ways that he could prolong the process and keep Sion’s attention on him, but…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran needed the money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, his foster family paid for his tuition, and also his not-really-off-campus off-campus apartment, and yes, whenever the bus system was out he just bothered Claugh, who didn’t even let him contribute gas money, for transport. However. </span>
  <em>
    <span>However</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His collection of vampire paraphernalia? That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely</span>
  </em>
  <span> on him! It always has been! Even if he had been the type to beg for toys and trinkets, as the foster son of vampire hunters, Miran could hardly have asked Miller or Kleisrole to buy him anything of the sort even when he was around that age. He had had two older brothers, yes, but he couldn’t ask them either. Not because Luke and Claugh were both aiming to become vampire hunters and thus might not be receptive, but because…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They would probably have been too receptive, actually!!!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, wait! They would </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> have been too receptive!!!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had definitely been a shock when he had misplaced his employee discount card for a few days, only to find later that it had not in fact been misplaced, and several fascinating purchases had appeared under his name…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Just to make sure, Miran checks that the card is still in his wallet. It’s not, but he feels around inside his jacket pocket and his fingers brush against it within seconds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers also brush against his lighter, and a near-empty pack of cigarettes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Record scratch.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>No, really, there’s the sound of an actual record scratch. Ryner’s obnoxious breakup playlist has moved to the next song.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright, that’s enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to take my fifteen minutes,” Miran announces, slamming the register key down in front of Ryner’s head. Ryner gives him a lazy thumbs up but doesn’t bother to lift either the arm that it’s attached to or the head that rests upon that arm. It can’t be comfortable, but it seems he was able to learn his lesson after being yelled at for using a stack of t-shirts as a pillow. And it seems that Miran has learned </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> sort of lesson, too, since he’s sure that if someone were to walk in they would have no way of telling that Ryner is actually awake. If it had been a few weeks ago, Miran wouldn’t be able to tell either! Realizing this only makes his irritation rise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to memorize Ryner’s tells! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just to be petty, he slams down the store key alongside the one for the register. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your turn to lock up.” Knowing his luck, it’s probably not, but it doesn’t really matter. Ryner has disappeared off with his friends and left Miran to cover for him too many times to count. This is the least he can do to repay him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran straightens his coat, gathers up his gloves and scarf, and heads out through the back. He prints 9:00 on the timesheet with one hand, a neat little lie that the manager won’t bother to check, and feels around in his pocket with the other. He’s got absolutely no intention of returning after fifteen minutes, not when it’s close enough to closing as is, and besides. Even if anyone shows up at this point, it’ll just be one of Ryner’s friends to keep him from falling asleep and getting locked in the mall overnight (again).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a shame that he can’t just light it up in the backroom so that his lungs will already be warm when he steps out into the night. It’s a fantasy he’s had more than a few times, but in the end, the pale grey plumes that he exhales upon exiting into the parking lot are just water vapor. His hands are already freezing up, even with his gloves - well, probably because they’re fingerless - so it takes him a bit longer before he can get his lighter to click.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he does, though, it’s all worth it. He takes a deep drag, letting it warm his lungs, and then exhales. It’s far more satisfying to watch than a cloud of breath. It stretches much further and lasts far longer, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One long drag for his obnoxious foster father. One for their entire family. Another for Claugh, who was too busy to come pick Miran up today and thus ended up sentencing him to the bus. One for his coworker, who continued to recommend him obnoxiously tasteful love songs while </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>continuing to obliviously hook up with Miran’s long-standing crush…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He exhales a particularly long stream of smoke, and watches it trail up along the lamppost, past the lights, and and into the night. Sure, this is a vice, but it’s - hm, calming? Maybe not, but at the very least it looks nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as he’s starting to feel better, the light above him dies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What the fuck? It had been flickering for a while, yes, but so did nearly all of the other parking lot lights! None of those ever went out on him! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of his annoyance came surging back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Miran moved to another light, it might just die on him as well. If he moved to one of the rare few that </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> flicker, he’d be halfway across the parking lot and probably end up missing the bus. If he lived on campus, then this would be less of an issue, since the college transit system was surprisingly reliable. However, Miran lived in an apartment for upperclassmen that, while basically on campus, did not technically count as part of it! He had to rely on the far less reliable town transit! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could nag one of his foster brothers, yes… by which he meant Claugh. Even though Claugh had denied him earlier, Miran was nothing if not persistent, and also very familiar with all of the buttons he could press and quirks he could appeal to in order to make Claugh do what he wanted. Luke was probably free - he </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> seemed to be free, somehow - but Miran would rather walk back than ask him for a favor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, if it was Claugh, they could bitch about the article together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke, who had been the first of them taken in by Miller, was actually fond of the man. They got along well. Even if Luke never addressed him as such without it sounding like some sort of bad joke, he was definitely the only one of them that actually saw Miller as a father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In comparison, while Claugh was grudgingly fond of Miller and often referred to Miller as his old man, they interacted more like… coworkers, maybe. Which they would be. Claugh wasn’t a vampire hunter yet, but he was well on his way, even if his determination to apprentice under someone completely unconnected to either of their foster parents made things a bit tricky for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was a recent source of contention between them, actually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was also something that had made it into that interview. So, assuming that Claugh had seen it at some point between the time at which he had last texted and </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he would definitely want to bitch with someone. Someone that wasn’t Luke, specifically. And Miran could be a good little brother for him to vent his frustration on… er, that is, ‘to’. Miran could be a good little brother for Claugh to vent his frustration </span>
  <em>
    <span>to</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, well, if he hadn’t seen the article then Miran could just be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>concerned little sibling</span>
  </em>
  <span> and bring it up! Absolutely foolproof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tapped some ash from the end of his cigarette, pooled some saliva in his mouth, and then put the last of the light out on his tongue. The taste never got any better, but he’d picked up the habit back in high school, and even after it became clear that he wasn’t impressing anyone that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to impress with that trick… well, it had stuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran ended up wandering the parking lot for a bit after that, searching for a light that didn’t flicker. Eventually he ended up closer to the movie theater, near an alley. The fact that he lit a new cigarette and took a few drags before getting his phone out wasn’t because he was worried about seeming needy or any of the other things Claugh liked to tease him about. It was just cold, that was all. So cold that he fumbled with his phone even after cupping the lighter flame to warm his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So cold that he accidentally hit the flashlight and nearly dropped his phone after half-blinding himself. He managed to catch it, but not before beaming the light everywhere like some kind of strobe. It was a good thing no one was around to - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...was that a camera?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>- see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is someone there?” Miran called out, and almost immediately felt the urge to slap himself. When watching horror movies, he was always annoyed by the characters that felt the need to ask such obvious questions, and yet…!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran frowned. He had definitely heard someone just now - someone who was concerned about cameras, at that - and now they were refusing to answer him…? Someone at this time and place, at that? And, given his surroundings… probably one of the darkened shapes in that alley…?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was probably just some college dealer, but he was curious. Far too much for his own good, or so he’d often heard. But, hey. Maybe it would even be someone he’d met. It’d be funny if it was one of the students Luke had tutored. Give him something to hold over his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran took a step forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I take this picture to the police…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that such a picture existed, of course. Which just added another question to the list. The voice had sounded fairly young, and yet… who could have mistaken a flashlight for a camera in this day and age? If it was a quick flicker, it’d be understandable, but did any camera exist with such a long flash?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know. The mystery - man, it was probably a man, that was a rather deep voice - probably didn’t, either. But, even if such a thing existed, to jump to such a conclusion was a bit...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The odds were low. The odds were astronomically low. But, well… his throat was warm and full of smoke, so it wasn’t like he needed his scarf anyways…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He unravelled it quickly. While his hair still served to curtain off most of his neck, the cold air hit the front of it immediately. It wasn’t so bad, though. He could definitely afford to pull his hair to the side, too...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lump in his throat bobbed as he took one last drag, and once again as he exhaled. Tossing his mostly unsmoked cigarette to the ground, he put out that bright little light under his heel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was almost certainly a waste, and he’d definitely be annoyed when it turned out to be some underachiever on speed - especially if it wasn’t even someone worth blackmailing - but, well, it wasn’t like it’d do him any good now that the thought had occurred to him. His chest felt tight, and his throat was dry…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran swallowed and licked his lips before speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suggest you come out,” he said, “before I send this picture to… well, I wonder who would be most interested…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran took another - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A streak of light darted out and slammed into him, pinning him up against the lamppost. There was - there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>no way</span>
  </em>
  <span> that someone could move that fast, even if they were on something. There was no way someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>human </span>
  </em>
  <span>could move that fast - !</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twin pinpricks of pain flared on the side of his exposed neck. His grip loosened; his phone clattered to the ground. Before the vampire (the real live vampire that was sucking his blood!) could get distracted by it, he kicked it and sent it skidding out of reach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A vampire!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An actual vampire!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was an actual vampire pinning him down and sinking his fangs into Miran’s neck and lapping at his blood! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A vampire!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An actual vampire!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had managed to run into an actual vampire - no, probably the only vampire - in this trashy town!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head is spinning. His lips are going numb. What sort of face must he be making? In any case, it’s a relief that this vampire can’t see. Ah, even if he dies here, does he have anything to regret? No, he is a tall man with quite a bit of blood in his body, so perhaps the vampire won’t be able to finish? Perhaps he’ll have to take him home and keep him in the basement for later? It would be a waste of blood to just snap Miran’s neck, right? How much blood is - ah! Wait! The vampire was definitely drinking from someone earlier, in that alley… perhaps to the death? Was that the reason for the silence?! While Miran stood there, unwinding his scarf to bare his neck, this vampire was draining someone to death mere meters away…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, ah, ah…!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How exciting! How enthralling! For something like this to happen, here and now, in this time and place…! If Miran had done anything differently…! If he had held out to the end of his shift, if he had decided to stay and wait for the bus, if he had gone to smoke under a different light, if he had done this or that… everything this evening was leading up to this, wasn’t it? No, maybe his entire life was just leading up to having his blood drained partway, and then being dragged back to some suitably dark cell to await being sucked dry…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, ah, ah…!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Ah.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was out loud, wasn’t it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, it just had to be so very nice and </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span> until Miran moaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds his breath, of course, praying that the vampire mistakes it for a sound of pain or despair. But a moment passes. And then another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...so you like this,” the vampire says. He - and with that deep voice now so close and clear, Miran is sure that this is a man - doesn’t sound pleased, but he doesn’t sound disgusted, either. If anything, it might be curious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran dares to open his eyes, and what he sees takes his breath away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can blame it on the blood loss, of course. He can blame it on the strain. But this vampire… this vampire is surely the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen. Miller had said that vampires could look like any ordinary person, but in this case, are the fantastical descriptions of cheap novels not more accurate? This is truly fitting for a vampire, yes? Exactly how such an otherworldly creature should be, especially compared to humanity...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite how utterly transfixed he is, Miran manages to muster a reply. “N… no,” he says, and it should be fairly obvious that it’s a lie, given the way his voice trembles to get the words out, but even if it’s a token protest…! Even if it doesn’t really mean anything, he still has </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> dignity!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, the vampire didn’t sound disgusted, but that doesn’t mean that he’ll be receptive. Miran needs to prepare a counterargument for anything the vampire might think to note aloud, just in case, but also without seeming too enthusiastic about the whole thing. The flush in his cheeks? Naturally having a man draining your veins will fuck up your circulation. The weakness in his limbs? Blood loss will do that, look, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>toootally </span>
  </em>
  <span>trying to escape. The way Miran is clutching at his narrow - no, slender - shoulders and bony - no, elegant - arms? Well, he hardly wants to go crashing to the pavement, now, does he? A head injury would definitely make it difficult to run away - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vampire laughs softly, as if reading his mind (didn’t Miller say that was just a myth!?) , and pulls back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Liar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran almost wants to whine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll argue if he has to! He really will! It’s not like the man seemed so averse to it, and surely he isn’t the only one who would react in such a fashion. There’s no way that this bloodsucker hasn’t encountered plenty of victims with the same proclivities. Perhaps whoever he just sucked dry in that alley only seconds away was also this way…!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To call me such a thing when you - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, this argument again?” the vampire asks (Again? Again?! So, then - !). “It’s not original at all, you know?” he continues, chiding. To his embarrassment, Miran actually feels himself reddening further from the reprimand, despite the blood still dripping from the wounds so close to his face. “I’m not interested in it. What I’m more interested in is…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand squeezes around his cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...This.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A vampire’s hand. Is on his cock. A vampire’s hand is on his cock, and Miran didn’t even have to try to appeal to him, or suggest anything like it…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I not… no, perhaps I should say it like this, instead? ‘Is my mouth not good enough?’” The vampire’s eyes curve into pale crescents, but his lips aren’t smiling. No, they’re pouting. A delicate and pale color, dripping over with red - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is, that is not,” Miran tries to say, but can’t remember what words he was planning on spouting - or if he had even thought that far in the first place - when the vampire tightens his grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t it? Well, aren’t you lively, then? To be able to get this hard while I’m draining the blood from your body… should I be quicker about it? I wonder how long it would take before you begin to flag and go soft. You’re fairly… impressive, I should say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran feels as though his heart, or perhaps his face, is about to combust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha, haha. Look at you… lively indeed. There’s so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s hardly my fault,” Miran snaps, and promptly feels like a child. How many times had he said that sort of thing, arguing with Luke and Claugh as they grew up? It had never worked then, so why should he expect it to work now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s my fault, then shall I clean it up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh? What?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vampire moves closer again. Will he try to fit his mouth over the same place, focusing on those same sweet little wounds, or will he make a new bite and let the blood flow in excess? Either is appealing, but the vampire does neither; instead, he pokes his pretty little tongue out and licks at Miran’s neck delicately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran shivers, yes, but not because it’s particularly arousing. It’s rather ticklish, actually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, somehow… a bit cute?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if it were only licking, it could still be better than this. He could press his tongue against Miran’s neck, dragging it along his skin, either pressing hard or taking care to circle the wounds he has left, but the vampire only continues with these little kitten licks. It feels chaste. There’s very little about it that excites him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, did I take too much?” This time, the vampire really </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> sound disappointed. The hand at Miran’s crotch squeezes again. Then the heel of his palm presses down and begins rubbing in circles. “You’re not as hard as before…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s because this vampire’s technique is, frankly, atrocious. Weren’t they supposed to be sexual creatures, to the point of having been historically conflated with succubi? Did Miran manage to run into a virgin on his first hunt or something? It’s just his luck, really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t how you should do it,” Miran snaps. He’s finally managed to come across a vampire, but it was less of a miracle than anticipated. Perhaps he should have expected that any vampire in this disappointing town would also be disappointing. Still, experienced or not, he’s not going to waste his chance. “Fold your hand - no, not like that. Do it like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vampire’s hands are small, and his nails are shorter than Miran would have expected. Well, it’s not as if he’s met any other vampires for reference, but hadn’t Miller often complained about their claws? Even if it hadn’t been a discussion at the dinner table or anything like that, by the start of high school Miran had definitely heard enough about the marks they would leave that it started featuring prominently in his dreams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cups the vampire’s hand in his own and guides it. “Like this. No, wait, move your wrist differently - there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If nothing else, he’s a quick learner. But hadn’t Miller said that most vampires got caught ended up like that simply because they couldn’t learn new tricks? Then why was Miran able to stumble over this one in a parking lot of all places?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Miller probably hadn’t meant the sexual sort of tricks. Miran doubted that someone like him had ever slept with a vampire. He might believe it of the man’s wife, or either of his brothers someday, but not Miller.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this good?” the vampire asks. “You’re not getting that much harder…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s because of the blood loss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, earlier, you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran twitched. “Stop!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, am I doing it wrong?” When the vampire stopped moving as well as talking, Miran sighed and grabbed his wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I meant for you to be quiet. You can keep doing - this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re not…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh!” Miran tried to get his cock out, but it took longer than anticipated. What was the vampire complaining about, really? He was hard enough that he couldn’t just tug his cock out of his pants, wasn’t he? He had to unzip the front after several moments of fumbling with the waistline. It felt like he was a teenager again, trying to get off in the locker room after spotting a certain well-muscled back disappearing into the showers. It was humiliating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh… you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> impressive,” the vampire was saying, which was not exactly something he had hoped to hear. “Mm… it’s hot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was this his idea of dirty talk, or was he just commenting on the temperature? If he has to miss out on a sexual encounter with a vampire because he can’t stand how bad said vampire’s dirty talk is, he will lose his mind. So, for the sake of his sanity, Miran decides to assume the latter. The vampire’s hands are rather cold, after all, which is only to be expected given the chilly year-end weather. It’s far from comfortable when he palms at Miran’s bare cock, but...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haha… you really didn’t think this through, did you?” The vampire speaks in a tone that suggests this is really not a question at all. Miran greatly resents how much of an effect that chiding tone has on him. It’s not that he has a praise kink, for him to hate it so much, nor is he such a masochist that he can’t resist it, but… his cock gives a very visible twitch. The vampire doesn’t seem to notice, though. “Somehow, I can’t imagine that you liked it that much… so is it a kink? No, a fetish? For you to drop your pants in a place like this, you must have been very busy thinking about whatever it is…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Miran says. “It’s not a fetish.” But he’s realized something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His knees hurt. They’ve been hurting for quite a while now, because he’s in an awkward sort of position where he’s partly crouched and partly leaning against that shitty parking lot light. He’s definitely not at his full height - far from it - but the vampire isn’t bending down when he mouths at Miran’s neck, or when he whispers against Miran’s ear. And when he pulls back just far enough for Miran to see his eyes under the light, Miran isn’t looking up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s looking down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vampire’s tiny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. They’re nearly eye-level, and Miran doesn’t need to crane his neck or anything like that, but he’s definitely - he’s definitely looking down. Which, which means… if he should straighten to his full height… he’d be towering over this man. No, that’s still an exaggeration. After all, even when guiding those hands around his cock, he hadn’t noticed anything particularly out of place. Because those hands, while delicate, were still indubitably those of an adult. But, that aside - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe his brothers had given him some unrealistic expectations, but wasn’t this a bit much? Certainly he had become resigned to the fact that most - if not all - of the men he took to his bed would be shorter than him, but he hadn’t ever imagined himself with someone this much shorter. And, and… shouldn’t this man be more impressive? This was a vampire. An apex predator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An apex predator who was currently dropping to his knees in front of Miran, in this trashy parking lot behind a rundown movie theater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some part of a fantasy shrivels and dies, but something else - ignites.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me keep you warm,” the vampire says, and the slight heat of his breath just makes the chill feel that much stronger. Looking down on him like this, Miran has no choice but to once again take note of his lips. Of his mouth. His small, delicate-looking mouth, with just the barest hint of fangs peeking out over his lower lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And - and he has no choice but to take note of his own condition, too. He’d gotten stiffer at some point, more than he had realized, and for a moment a half-delirious thought flits across his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is it - is it going to fit?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran has never thought of himself as particularly large before. Certainly he was aware that he was above average, but - but he had Claugh for a brother, and most of the novels he read were very exaggerated, and the vampire on his knees before him was very noticeably smaller, and looked even more so with a stiff cock pressed against his cheek. For a moment Miran thinks of just shoving the man off and running away, but then - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light above them flickers abruptly. Once. Twice. The vampire smiles, lips pulling back just far enough for those fangs to - to - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light glints off of them, flickering in time. Once. Twice. It’s mesmerizing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do my best,” the vampire says, “but feel free to guide me, Mr. Vampire Kink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran opens his mouth to protest, but then chokes on nothing but air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could blame it on the weather. He could blame it on this dry, autumn chill. He could even blame it on that bad habit of his, although this has never happened before, and he doesn’t overindulge to such an extent. He could try to blame it on something else, but he’s fully aware that it’s because of the smooth edges of those fangs, just barely gliding along his skin as the vampire takes him in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart is pounding and he can smell, no, taste, he can taste iron in the air. Is it his imagination? It has to be. His neck is still bleeding, but it doesn’t even feel sticky, despite the traces of saliva that remain on it. And he’s this hard, too, so there’s no way - there’s no way - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if he were to bleed out, if he were to bleed out with his cock in a vampire’s mouth, if he were bleeding out </span>
  <em>
    <span>right now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, oh, oh, ohh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vampire’s mouth is too preoccupied with his cock for words, but if it weren’t, Miran could imagine the man saying something light and mocking. Just the thought makes him dizzy. He really should be more worried, but he used to have a habit of skulking around deserted, dimly-lit areas for this specific purpose. Maybe he had given up on it, and maybe he never expected to actually run into a vampire - especially not somewhere as trashy as this - but it was still the same purpose. He wasn’t going to back out just because it might hurt if his dick got bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, his blood is roaring - maybe even because of it. He’d thought the vampire inexperienced, earlier, but the way he rests those fangs along Miran’s skin - but not against, never against - is very. It’s very. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s very good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t hurt, but the threat of it is there, and the pressure is enough that Miran wouldn’t be able to stop thinking of it if he tried. It’s far more arousing than it should be, and that vampire is keeping his word, he’s keeping Miran’s cock warm, and if Miran isn’t careful - if Miran thinks about what is happening, what is really, truly happening - if Miran thinks too hard, if Miran doesn’t think hard enough - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A vampire! An actual vampire! On his knees, in such a subservient position, and yet in total control of Miran’s body - of the flow of blood in Miran’s body - !</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vampire pushes forward just a little, head bobbing, and presses those soft lips flat against his cock. It feels a bit like a kiss. When he retreats to lick at the head again, there’s a line of red on Miran’s cock, almost like lipstick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath catches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t resist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran brings his hands up to his neck, and when he presses his palm there it comes away red. He digs his fingers in with one hand, and presses the palm of the other against his mouth, and licks, and - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vampire does the same trick with his lips. The mark it leaves is redder, this time, red like the blood that Miran tastes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He comes with a hoarse little gasp, splattering the vampire’s face with white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment something seems to flash through the vampire’s eyes. It might just be that shitty light, but Miran is reminded - rather uncomfortably, given how he’s just climaxed - that this is a vampire he’s dealing with. An actual vampire. A creature that preys on humans such as Miran himself…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the vampire swipes at his face with one finger and, shamelessly, sticks it in his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...it’s salty,” the vampire says. “And thick. More than… no, more or less what I expected, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not - it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>blood</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Miran says, voice cracking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. Of course not. If it were your blood, it would be… ah, about this thick, actually. But it would be more sour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pardon…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are a man of many vices, aren’t you?” The vampire smiles at him again, as if he hasn’t just sucked Miran senseless and isn’t currently peering into him as if he were hollow and naked. “But they’re all vices that I rather like. A smoker’s blood exactly isn’t my favorite, but it’s much better than blood that’s all sticky and sweet. I take it you don’t have much of a taste for those things?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, I… no, that sort of trash only pollutes the body - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And smoking doesn’t? Haha. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> entertaining.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...thank you for your gracious description.” But he really must look anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>but</span>
  </em>
  <span> gracious, especially with his cock still out and getting rather cold, so he quickly fixes himself. The vampire, on the other hand, seems content to keep slowly licking the cum from his own face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Has he even noticed that some has gotten in his hair…?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm… now, if you should be so kind as to delete the picture that you took, then perhaps we can even meet again? If it suits. It would be a shame to have to kill you at this point, ah, um...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes Miran a few moments to realize that the vampire may be asking for his name. “Miran. My name is Miran Froaude. And you - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haha, is that your real name?” Now that his face is clean, he’s turned his attention to his bangs. He doesn’t bother licking his fingers, though, instead making a face and glancing down as though wondering whether it would be acceptable to wipe himself down with the sleeve of his coat. “Oh, and don’t think I’ve forgotten about that picture. You didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> send it to anyone, did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Miran says, picking it up and unlocking it to let the vampire glance over his text history - oh, it seems Claugh messaged him of his own initiative. Miran quickly deletes the chat before handing it over to the vampire… who, unfortunately, seems to buy it even though that amount of swiping and tapping is </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> not necessary just for unlocking the screen. Doesn’t he know that Miran could have just deleted a chat </span>
  <em>
    <span>with</span>
  </em>
  <span> an incriminating picture? Does he even know that chats can be deleted? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” he decides to point out, because this vampire really will get himself killed if no one teaches him these things, “even if a picture is deleted, and even if the copy within the trash is deleted, it’s a simple enough matter for someone sufficiently skilled to restore an image from - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vampire nods seriously. “I see,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Given your unfamiliarity with the topic, perhaps we ought to - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can finish the sentence, the vampire knocks Miran’s phone from his hand and cracks it beneath his heel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I suppose that would take care of it,” Miran says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I was about to suggest that we exchange numbers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. My apologies… should I buy you a new one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The mall’s already closed. Besides, did you really plan on walking into the carrier’s with your hair like - like - you know what, use these,” Miran says, fishing out a pack of tissues before the vampire can decide to actually wipe the cum off of his hair with his coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” the vampire says, and then, “what’s a carrier?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you never - wait,” Miran says, realizing a fatal error in his earlier plan. “Even if you hadn’t broken my phone, we wouldn’t have been able to exchange numbers, would we? You don’t have a phone, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, well, there’s one in my house. I’ve been told that it can’t text, though...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The - the </span>
  <em>
    <span>landline</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That’s the landline, it’s not - I’m talking about cell phones, have you ever handled a cell phone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, well… no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So it was true!?!?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - you know what, meet me here tomorrow. You’re clearly inept, to the point that it’s dangerous - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, was it that bad? But in the end, you - ” the vampire waves a used tissue, and Miran wants to fall over and die on the spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t talking about that,” he says. “I was talking about the phone. For starters, there wasn’t a picture in the first place - you’re very unfamiliar with flashlights and cameras, which isn’t so dangerous if you mistake the former for the latter, but if someone gets a picture without you noticing because you passed it off as something else then you really will be in danger. Next, even if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>taken a picture and sent it to someone, I could simply have deleted the conversation without you even noticing. It doesn’t take that long to unlock a locked phone, you should have noticed I was doing something else. Actually, you really should have insisted on standing behind - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see why you wanted to meet for this tomorrow,” the vampire interrupts, having been listening rather intently. “But, if there was no picture, why did you delete a conversation? Assuming that is what you did, that is. Did you, perhaps - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miran can feel a headache coming on. No, wait, it’s already here. “That was my brother,” Miran says, feeling his temper rapidly shortening. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...oh, this I understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only meant that he didn’t want to talk about it with a near-total stranger, but the other man seems to have gotten a completely different idea about it…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow. Here. Same time - no, actually, it’s better if you come at… hm, yes, three will do. Everything will be closed at this time, and we’ll have to buy you a phone,” actually, they’ll have to buy Miran a replacement, first. And then Miran’s number will be the first to be input into this man’s new phone, and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right here, three in the afternoon, I understand,” the vampire echoes. “But isn’t the weather supposed to be sunny?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wear sunscreen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haha… so unforgiving. Are you always like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, it’s really that Miran’s familiar with which myths are true and which aren’t. Vampires can survive perfectly well in the sun, he knows, so if this man is expecting any mercy or care, he’s gravely mistaken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I’ve been told.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even on a first date… how cold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shiver runs up Miran’s spine. Is that what it’s going to be…? A date? Perhaps he should dress a bit nicely…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re agreed, then,” he says. Hopefully it came across more smoothly than it felt. “Don’t be late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s only after he’s started the long walk back to his apartment that something else occurs to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never got that vampire’s name! Even an alias! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What is he supposed to moan later tonight!?!</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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